Crowning Courage
by AutumnsFey
Summary: Independent sequel to 'Committed Courage':The war has been won. Grief has started to settle in. The Victors have begun to write their history. The hands of time don't stop. And during Neville's acceptance of his Order of Merlin, Harry remembers back to how they came to this day. Three short memories, nothing more. But they explain so much.
**N** **ervous** looks. Uncertain murmurs.

None of them brave enough to look one lone young man in the eye or confront him with their misinformed self-incensed misgivings.

Cautious questions what such a frightened child did up there, asking to receive one of the greatest honours their ministry is capable of bestowing upon someone. Hateful whispering that much more deserving upstanding adult-members of their society should have taken the boys place, that he should have the good grace to yield before his betters.

Harry smiled serenely.

What utterly pathetic sheep …

A frightened but brave child grown up into a courageous and inspiring young man, that is who Harry saw when he looked up to the stage and into the serious determined eyes of one of his best friends, starring unflinchingly back at the self-righteous crowd.

Standing above their judgement. Standing above them.

Rightfully.

Once more, Harry contemplated that if Hogwarts could give a prize for the most positive and progressive character emergence over the course of seven years of schooling, then Neville would win it hands down. He deserved it more than anyone else Harry knew.

During the last seven years, they were forced to grow up quickly. In many cases too quickly. Born into a war that wasn't theirs to begin with they were expected to win it for those who not only contributed to the basis upon which the root of the problem itself could form but made the war and its sacrifices possible in the first place. Eleven years of open war, thirteen years of peace, and then it started up again.

And why?

Because the sheep and the shepherd's where more than satisfied to vocally proclaim their work done, lean back and delegate as well as encourage the children to fight their parents fight, to fight in the Second Blood Purity War for their families because their elders were too afraid and complacent to do it themselves. Elders who were willing, ready and not perturbed to mimic quite resourcefully as fully-qualified grown witches and wizards the habits of ostriches and put their heads demonstrative in the ground.

Hear no evil, see no evil.

As if.

That left one message to the younger generation: _' You are one your own.'_

Children of at most eighteen were suddenly responsible for the mistakes of their father, mothers, aunts, uncles and grandparents. Suddenly, it was so very easy, nearly a trend, to skive of responsibility and shift it to those less skilled and knowledgeable. Suddenly, mistakes where seemingly inherited, mistakes of which the younger generation now had to take care.

And they did.

A forced responsibility they paid in blood, loss and broken minds. In scars and in rivers of mournful tears.

It was a price none of them was prepared to pay. To choose. To accept. To be burdened by.

But amidst these terror-filled years, while horror, fear and hopelessness reigned with deceiving finality it was their generation; children born at the end of the First Blood Purity War, that never capitulated. They fought, and they bled, and they became beacons of hope in a sinking world quickly losing faith.

Despite their Elders mistakes, they won.

Victory at last.

They defeated Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, a fool arrogant enough to believe he could cheat death forever, and his merry band of depraved Death Eaters.

Harry folded his hands calmly, the long dark-emerald sleeves of his dress robe hiding the fine tremor of his thin fingers, dreaded after effects of too much and too long Cruciatus exposure.

How he hated that Unforgivable with a passion …

They all bore their scars, some more and some less obvious. Harry's curse scar, for one, the anchor of Riddles former accidental Horcrux, was fading more and more every day, finally becoming what it always should have been; a normal scar. In exchange for that miracle, he would now have to live with the after effects of the Cruciatus: spontaneous tremors, blackouts, heartburn. At first glance, less obvious than others. Neville for one had acquired quite a few distinctive scars himself, some from the treatment the Carrow Twins during their tenure as professors had bestowed upon him in answer to his defiance, some during the Battle of Hogwarts. But one look at his scarred face, of the determined unashamed eyes that could be so soft and warm when Neville was speaking with his most precious peoples, and there was no denying the fierce warrior standing tall and proud in the face adversary, no matter which form it took.

Neville deserved this honour.

Harry remembered only too well how scared of his own shadow his friend had been during the earlier years of their education, but he also remembered only too well how fierce and unforgiving Neville's courage burned once he was committed to something or someone – be it their house, his friends, family, precious and rare gifts, invaluable memories or morals he defied compromising no matter the circumstance.

They had been loose friendly schoolmates until fifth year, until Harry had completely removed the blinders from his glasses and found the courage in himself to apologize for being selfish and not telling Neville the much needed truth of how deeply he treasured the older boy as a friend. It had been a turning point, and he was allowed in the following weeks to witness not simply his schoolmate but his dear friend bloom into a man to be respected.

Standing on the stage in his fitted dark-brown silken robed, Neville looked grandiose. This was a man whose mere presence screamed calm self-confidence and and fierceness.

It was intoxicating.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, confirmed as Minister of Magic for Wizarding Britain less than a week ago, stood next to Neville, two man who were so tall and broad they commanded attention by merely entering a room, one look and the first description on ones tongue was 'warrior'.

… Harry had seen Neville's potential as wizard, he just hadn't presumed to label the gentle down-to-earth-man as a fighter; but a fighter he was, and a damn good one at that.

A smile stole itself on Harry's lips as Kingsley began his speech detailing Neville's accomplishments during the war.

Strangely, Harry only heard half of it. Because while every word was true and he felt vindicated to listen to Neville being validated and recognized, he remembered so much more.

Memories of watching a young boy finding his courage. Memories of seeing a determined man come into his own. Among all those little moments that Harry wouldn't want to miss for anything in the world, three instances stood out, three defining moments in the emergence of the man he was proud and privileged to be allowed to bear witness to.

 **E** **veryone** underestimated Neville from the moment he stepped into Hogwarts. The chubby forgetful boy with the disappearing pet toad who was so surprised and nervous to be sorted into Gryffindor that he run off with the Sorting Hat. Malfoy and cohorts took a sadistic kind of pleasure bullying the so-called 'cowardly lion'. And he wasn't the only one. While the majority of the students did not actively bully him, they turned away.

A mistake Harry couldn't call himself blameless of.

He did not bully Neville, he didn't consciously look away, he even helped him when the other boys torment managed to penetrate Harry's little bubble of self-important problems and made him take notice, but in hindsight, he could – he should have done so much more. Reaching out in friendship didn't cost him anything. Indeed, all it would have done was to give him an amazing friend way sooner.

Instead, their first year was interesting and exciting, but not … not comforting or safe, always tainted by the remains of a war gone for nearly a decade.

But at the end of the year, it came down to Ron, Hermione and Harry to stop the wraith Riddle had become from resurrecting himself by use of the Philosopher stone hidden within the walls of Hogwarts. The problem was … Neville wasn't aware of their final intention, and all he knew was that, even after the loss of one-hundred-and-fifty points weeks prior and the dishonour they had brought their house, the trio was about to break the rules again. And this time he tried to stop them from the get-go, to protect the house he was sorted into from shame and point loss and his three year mates from blame, punishment and another shunning at the hands of their fellow house mates.

Hermione was so desperate in the end, she hexed him immobile.

It felt terrible to leave him there.

They didn't see it then, but it must have taken so much courage on Neville's part to stand up to people he was as good as friends with and not buck from his place and convictions.

Harry remembered the guilt of leaving Neville immobile, helpless and alone.

Years later, this guilt would finally bring forth a sincere apology, but that day was then still far far away. It would be one of the catalysts to bring Neville into his own.

Harry didn't know it then, but that day, the day he was fully prepared to face off against people he actually liked, Neville finally shed his sheep skin and became a proper lion cub.

It was the first roar of Neville, the fearless Gryffindor.

 **T** **he** second event burned into his memory was their failed rescue mission at the Department of Mysteries. A few months ago, after clearing the air between them, Neville had officially become his friend, and Harry was astounded at how delightful it was to have the Herbology-lover at his side. He had honestly underestimated Neville's commitment and endurance. The slightly older boy had been held at want point under the threat of torture in Umbitch's office, had not been cowed by the prospect of uncertain amounts of untold danger and flown a thestral from the Scottish Highs to London.

Once in the Ministry of Magic and descended into the depths of the Department of Mysteries, he had not once lost his nerve in the face of possible death – in the face of his parents remorseless torturers, taunting him cruelly. He had instead fought tooth and nail, defended and attacked like an alpha lion protecting his pride and never stopped. Neither a crushed nose nor deliberating pain made him give up.

Harry was awed.

It took quite a lot of courage and sheer balls to look at the person or persons responsible for ones parents pain or demise and don't flip their shit. Neville proved that.

He used every spell Harry had taught him during DA meetings and he used them formidably. Once his broken nose slurred the spells too much to prove effective, he resorted to physical attacks.

A true Gryffindor to the bone.

Afterwards, after he had lost his godfather to an uncertain faith everyone called death and had been shipped off to his relatives for the summer holidays, a part of Harry, the part to be exact that was nearly crazy with grief and blame and self-loathing for Sirius, for his beloved godfather's death, asked himself again and again why Neville hadn't told him to fuck off after being so injured.

Why none of them had told him to get lost.

It would only be later in the summer that Harry really understood why, and that understanding would be witnessed by none but his tears, sobs and grief. It was a humbling realisation.

But for the first time, harry was so surprised and comforted by someone's friendship, it left him speechless and raw. Unconditional commitment.

Neville, Luna, Ginny. Three people, three friends who stayed even when they had no reason to.

Ron, Hermione. The two friends who couldn't be separated from him in heaven or hell.

Harry was truly thankful.

 **T** **hird** time's the charm – and the most terrifying memory he had.

It was war.

True war.

On the eve of the Battle of Hogwarts, when the lines were drawn into the ground for one last confrontation, one last defining battle, it was Neville who got the trio through Aberforth's tunnel at the Hogshead into Hogwarts, Neville who lead the DA as a resistance group against the influence Riddle and his pet Death Eaters had demanded and enforced in the school.

Strong, unbending Neville.

They all had lived through too much, had been forced to endure beyond imagine. But where Ron, Hermione and Harry had been exhausted and physically deprived of necessities for so long during the Horcrux Hunt that it had become obvious, Neville had grown into his body, mind and soul.

The puppy had painfully matured.

And the adult lion roared.

His roar brought the resistance of Hogwarts to their feet, ready and eager.

His roar baited the werewolves at the bridge and led them into certain death.

His roar … shattered the reigns of terror which had shackled the light side once they saw Harry's seemingly dead body.

It was Neville and his stupid stupid wonderful courage, talking off to Riddle and nearly being burned alive, that gave Harry the time to recuperate enough from his 'death' or whatever it was, to challenge Riddle and duel with him one last time …

But he would have lost if Neville hadn't proven himself a true lion and summoned the Sword of Gryffindor from within the Sorting Hat, using it daringly to slay Nagini and as such destroying the last remaining Horcrux and making Riddle mortal one last time.

Harry … Harry had never been so thankful to anyone than he had been to Neville at that moment.

They had won.

 **I** **t** was frightening and awe-inspiring in the same breath.

Neville's bravery made Harry's final defeat of Riddle possible.

Harry focused back on Kingsley as the Minister came to the conclusion of his informative and accrediting speech.

" It is with gratitude and pride that I'm honoured to present Neville Frank Longbottom today with this Order of Merlin third class for playing a vital part in the defeat of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Mr. Longbottom."

Neville stood straight and proud as Kingsley pinned the silver medal to his chest, accepting the honoured he had won so richly deserved.

Harry shot to his feet and started enthusiastically clapping, his friends, fellow DA-members and the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix following swiftly. Their applause echoed rousingly in the crowded atrium and soon enough the sheep went along, joining boisterously and hypocritically in their congratulations.

Typical.

Whatever – Neville deserved this moment.

And not even the disgruntled faces of some more questionable characters who should have been imprisoned could take this from him.

Harry smiled brightly as Neville bowed and made eye contact with him. His smile morphed into a proud grin and he laughed as Neville returned the grin confidently, a small smirk lurking in the edges of his lips.

Yes.

The sheep may whisper, murmur, titter and talk brazenly, but Harry was once more assured in his opinion.

No one alive deserved this moment more than Neville Frank Longbottom.

Neville was finally recognized and acknowledged.

A true lion, indeed.

~ The End ~


End file.
